Anja's Game Pt. 05

I was definitely struggling to get over her. She was stalking me. Living large in my head. Images of her would crop up unbidden in my dreams, in the midst of my everyday thoughts, and in my sexual fantasies. I needed help.

***

I had been sad and conflicted for weeks after my liaison with Frida. Even my usually enormous libido seemed subdued. I didn't go out 'on the pull' and even went days and days without masturbating -- absolutely unheard of.

Jun and Gigi at work noticed my lack of sparkle, and I said I was 'just at a low ebb.' I did consider confiding in them, but in the end I kept my heartache to myself. I'm not sure why. I just didn't feel ready to share it. Instead, I remained strangely closed and introverted, which was not like me at all. I muddled along, trying to concentrate on other things, grappling with my thoughts, and just waiting for the cloud to pass, which it did of course, eventually.

It must have been more than a month later when I was having a coffee in a town-centre cafe and I was served by a bright and smiley Scottish waitress called Kirsty (it said so on her badge). She had the most delightfully musical laugh, and my sexual spirit finally stirred itself from its slough of despond. I didn't try to seduce her -- I wasn't ready for that yet - but my brief encounter with her and the way she made me smile reminded me that my inner siren was still alive and kicking.

Just that 30 minutes in the company of Kirsty, watching her and listening to her, and I'd turned a corner. I knew, rather than just hoped, that I could get past Frida and move on. There were lots of gorgeous women out there. I just needed to open myself up again.

Frida had shaken me to my very core though. I hadn't realised I was so emotionally vulnerable because nothing like it had happened before. She had fired her cupid bow when my guard was down and she scored a bullseye.

I had toughed it out, with difficulty, laboriously building my guard back up, despite having serious doubts about whether I should, and I had reached a point where I could move forward, but it wasn't going to be easy to forget her. In fact, I knew I never would.

Just by chance, I saw a Facebook post by an old friend of mine, and I decided to catch up with her. Debbie (known as Debbie Double D for obvious reasons) was a university friend of mine and for a time we had been lovers. I had got together with her on a night out while studying in Nottingham, and we had a torrid affair for three years. We had taught each other a lot during that time and I still felt a fizz of excitement when I thought of her and the amazing sex we had shared.

Later, when we both moved back north, me to the north-west, her to the north-east, we had a casual relationship that you could call 'friends with benefits' but we were not really girlfriends. We lived almost 100 miles apart, which made it difficult, but we got together every two or three weeks to renew our sexual liaison.

That's all water under the bridge though. Debbie is now happily married to a freelance photographer, and they seem very happy. They met when Debs was chosen as the model for an ad campaign for a well-known tall girl clothing brand (she's 6 feet tall), and Kelly was the photographer.

I sent Debbie a message saying I needed a bit of a heart to heart and she responded exactly as I expected.

'Aw, babe, I hope you're OK. Of course we can talk. D'you want to do it online, or do you want to come over? Kelly is away on a job in Italy at the moment, so if you need a private chat..'

I pondered for all of ten seconds, then I sent back, 'Can I come tomorrow?' Which was a Friday.

'Of course sweetie. You can remember where we are can't you?'

She was being cheeky -- of course I could remember -- but her use of that old form of address brought a tear to my eye.

The following evening, I left work and drove northeast across the Pennine hills to Kelly and Debbie's place on the east coast. I was under no illusions: A night alone with Debs, with Kelly away, didn't mean sex. Debbie is too faithful for that, and of course she'd tell Kelly exactly what was happening. Their relationship is not fragile, and Kelly had always been quite friendly with me, despite knowing all about my history with her wife.

No, it was going to be a nice girl-talk kind of evening. An opportunity to pour my heart out to one of my oldest friends, and get some forthright advice, something Debbie had always been good at.

Although she's the same age as me, she's always seemed older; somehow more grown-up and level-headed. She's still great fun though, and wickedly irreverent when she's had a drink or two. It was sure to be therapeutic.

I pulled onto the driveway of her house on a balmy evening, just as the light was fading and she came out to greet me, wearing a beautiful rainbow-striped cotton maxi dress and flat sandals. The dress was simple and figure-hugging, and it had a very low neckline. It really showed off her eye-popping cleavage and her curvy hips to absolute perfection and I was reminded why I'd fallen for her charms that night in Nottingham.

We embraced and I savoured the so-familiar scent of her perfume. 'Ah, Santal 33. I love that you are still wearing that.'

'Mm, so good, why would I change?' she laughed as she led me inside. 'Would you like a glass of wine?'

'Ooh, would I?' I flopped down on her sofa and she brought me a lovely glass of red.

'I bought this today, it's your favourite Ribera. I remembered you liked it.' How very thoughtful of her.

We chatted about this and that, old times etc, and, as the wine flowed, I could feel myself relaxing. She was always easy to be with and always made me feel comfortable and mellow, and I was completely disarmed when she brought the conversation around to why I had driven 100 miles for this chat.

I began telling her the story of Frida... I started with my going to her stall for fruit, her suggestive comments, asking her out just because I was horny, the full revelation of her attractiveness in the pub, her excited dragging me home by the hand, our fantastic sex, and the fruity session the following weekend. I even told her about Frida's perfect pussy. But when I began telling her about the horrible, heart-breaking morning, and the pangs I felt when I saw her again, I couldn't control my tears.

I was sat next to her on the sofa with my head on her shoulder, sniffling, and she was stroking my leg gently as she asked me what made Frida so different from 'all the others' (she was well aware of my propensity for serial sex dates).

'I really don't know what it is about her,' I said, and I looked down pensively. My eyes wandered to Debbie's amazing cleavage. My God, I used to love those breasts. I felt my head dipping almost involuntarily until I was kissing the exposed top of her right breast. She didn't resist and I continued down until I was sucking her nipple through the fabric of her bra and dress.

'Ooh,' she sighed, and she extricated her arms and slipped off the shoulder straps of both dress and bra, then scooped up those magnificent soft orbs so that I could bury my face in them. I twisted around and dropped to my knees between her legs, pushing up her dress and suckling her nipple like an infant - and deriving an amazing amount of comfort from it. She leaned back and just continued to hold her breasts up for me, allowing me to lose myself in them. It was divinely soothing and cathartic to be embosomed in this way, and to feel her tenderly kissing the top of my head.

Eventually, she lay down on her side on the sofa and I crawled up next to her, tearing myself away from those wonderful breasts, then we lay there side by side, pressed together and just cuddling. I felt more relaxed and content than I had for weeks.

I dozed off, briefly, and when I awoke I was mortified by what I had done... 'Oh God, Debbie, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..'

'Shhh, it's OK. You obviously needed comforting, and that always was the best way I knew,' she grinned. 'I'm glad you still seem to like them.'

I sat up and pulled her up until I could throw my arms around her and kiss her on the cheek.

'You are the bestest best friend ever!'

She laughed and stood up, tucking her huge boobs back into her dress, and said 'Let's crack open another bottle.'

The mood had lightened now. I felt like a weight had been lifted somehow, and we sat up until late chatting, laughing, and teasing each other about past times, and our vulnerabilities. She told me eye-popping stories about Kelly and her kinky fetishes, and she told me I had to get back on the horse as soon as possible -- '..but make sure that horse is a fine filly.'

I left the next day, with a kiss and a squeeze, and drove home with a much lighter heart. I would get 'back on the horse,' and I would do it soon.

***

On the far side of town from me there is a lesbian bar called The Fat Giraffe (don't ask me why) and I decided to go there the very next weekend and see what it was like. As a rule, I never frequent gay bars or clubs because I find they thend to be unfriendly, a bit sleazy, and often full of women trying too hard to be dykes.

For me, being a lesbian is about celebrating everything feminine, and I've never really understood the need to be boyish or a 'bulldyke' -- an unattractive name for an unattractive look. I'm not that kind of lesbian. Similarly, you would never catch me at a gay pride event or any other militant demonstration of gayness, or 'gay rights'. Nothing wrong with it, but it's just not me.

Still, I thought I'd give the Fat Giraffe a try. The other alternative was to return to the cafe and try my luck with Kirsty, an idea I still might pursue in the future.

Now, what to wear to a lesbian bar? I didn't want to overdo the sexy, but I wanted to look desirably femme, so I wore a black lacy top with just enough plunge to show a tantalising bit of cleavage, white bum-hugging jeans, and a pair of strappy platform sandals with a 4-inch heel. I left my hair down, with just my favourite black velvet Alice band to hold it back off my face, and I kept my makeup subtle -- just enough to make my eyes really pop. I looked myself up and down in the mirror. I was ready.

The place was already quite busy when I arrived at about 8:30, and I grabbed a vacant stool at the bar and ordered a white wine. Of course, I attracted attention immediately, first of all from the barmaid, who had short spiky black hair, and extremely dark goth-style makeup. She was wearing a tartan mini skirt and what looked like a red leather bra top, showing off her moderately sized but very perky breasts. She had a nice firm-looking bum and very slim legs. Yes, she was definitely fuckable.

She gave me a nice smile when she brought my drink:

'Thanks'

'You're very welcome.'

I looked around. There were a few people dancing and a pair of young girls groping one another in one of the banquette alcoves. Most others were standing around in groups, chatting while scanning the room. There were a few women that caught my eye, apart from the barmaid, but I thought, on this occasion, I'd wait and see if I was approached. I quite fancied the mystery of just seeing who turned up.

It didn't take long. Luckily a couple of older women who had been on the stools next to me suddenly kissed passionately then left, tout suite, and there she was, sliding her bum onto the stool next to me, eyeing me appreciatively with a broad smile on her face.

It was her smile I noticed first. She had a very large mouth, full lips, dazzling white teeth, dark brown eyes and a little snub nose. In some ways, her features were like those of a black woman, but she was very definitely white. She was strikingly good-looking and had attractive laugh-lines around her eyes and mouth, making me think she was a little older than me. Her hair was dark and pulled back tight into a tiny ponytail -- it was only just long enough, and it left a couple of loose, curly strands dangling attractively each side of her face.

Her voice was quite deep and velvety, almost like the singer Sade. 'Hey beautiful, what are you doing on your own? You must be waiting for someone.'

It was a refreshingly direct approach, and it neatly incorporated a compliment and a probing question. I responded in the same vein.

'Yes, I am... You.' And I gave her the most dazzling smile I could muster.

She chuckled, wrinkling up her nose adorably and said, 'Well -- here I am!' and she threw her arms out in an exaggerated showbiz kind of way. We had met 30 seconds ago, and we were already cackling like schoolkids. It was a great start.

I noticed the barmaid glancing furtively at us with doe-eyes, and I had a very brief 'aww' moment. Never mind darling, you might get another chance.

'Hi, I'm Melissa, but you can call me Mel.'

'Hi Mel, I'm Anja, great to meet you.'

She took my hand and, quite unexpectedly, kissed it. A kind of greeting I can't ever recall getting before. 'Anja. Lovely name '

I smiled at the compliment. 'Thanks, it's Scandinavian - spelled with a "J"'

We chattered easily about this and that, and I had the chance to take in her outfit; I hadn't noticed she was tall when she sat down, but I saw that she was wearing a pair of quite conservative kitten heels, only an inch or two high, so she was obviously conscious of her height. Her black skirt was not mini, but substantially above the knee, and it was topped off with a very sheer pastel pink button-up blouse, which let the dark shape of her bra show through. She had left the top few buttons undone, giving an alluring glimpse of the lacy edges of her bra cups. I wouldn't say she was busty, but she had a nice curve of tanned breast on display.

She saw me looking, and she squeezed them together with her arms, saying 'D'you like these? I gulped and nodded slowly with my eyes wide. 'Would you like to see more of them? Or maybe these?' and she pulled the hem of her skirt up a few inches, revealing beautifully toned thighs.

'Mm mmm, naughty' I murmured. I loved her bold directness and self-confidence; she really was a woman after my own heart.

The warm, moist feeling between my legs was increasing by the second and I excused myself and went to the ladies, saying 'I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere.' I was decidedly damp and definitely needed a little 'absorption'.

While in the loo, I heard someone enter the cubicle next to me and I chuckled to myself as we did some synchronised peeing, both finishing at exactly the same time, even down to our final spurts. We emerged from the cubicles at the same time and it was Mel. She had followed me in!

We both burst out laughing, but then she turned serious, pushed me back against the wall with a smouldering look and trailed her wet fingers across my lips. They carried the unmistakable scent and taste of a hot, wet, slightly pissy pussy. Then she kissed me, with lips that tasted strongly of the same earthy cocktail. It was a visceral kiss; our teeth clashed as she clamped her mouth hungrily onto mine, and the unmistakeable flavour of pussy literally made my mouth water. My God, I was being comprehensively out-vamped here. I had butterflies...

'Oops, don't mind me.'

Another woman had walked in, making us break the kiss but, completely unabashed, Mel just said, 'C'mon Anja, if you want more where that came from you better follow me' and she marched out, calling back over her shoulder, 'I've phoned for a taxi to my place.' Now, that's what you call confidence!

Five minutes later, we were in a cab heading for her flat in the middle of town. Let's face it, I had gone out to get picked up so, whichever way you looked at it, this was a hell of a result. She was a voracious, rapacious sexual predator. Unbelievably, even more bold and direct than me. That taste of pussy in the ladies... Wow. Even I wouldn't have been that brazen.

Her flat was something else. It was in a fashionable and expensive part of town, but it was the decor that blew me away. It was all flamboyant, rich colours, with lots of lesbian art on the walls. Some of it was just artistic paintings of women kissing but there were some abstract images that didn't need a lot of imagination to understand what they were depicting. I was fascinated as I identified nipples, lips, fingers, tongues, even a clitoris or two. It was very.... stimulating.

'Wow, I love your art, Mel.'

'Thanks, I feel sure I'm about to get some more inspiration.'

'What? You mean you painted these?'

'Well, some of them, yes. I have a vivid imagination, and a photographic memory. A lot of my art is inspired by images I have in my head -- and I think you and I are about to make some more images. Come into the bedroom.'

The bedroom. Oh my God. The bedroom took it to another level. For a start, it was huge (like the rest of the flat) with a French style double bed with upholstered head and foot boards in the middle, an armchair in one corner, and a chaise-longue against one wall. Plus, a shelf with various sex toys openly on display. It was all reds, blacks and purples, except for one wall, which was completely covered with images of beautiful women.

I was fascinated by this 'beauty wall' and gazed in wonder at it. It was in no way pornographic, but the pictures were all extremely sexy and alluring. With a quick scan, I spotted timeless beauties like Gina Lollobrigida, Sophia Loren, and Audrey Hepburn, along with more modern icons such as Scarlett Johansson, Anne Hathaway, and Liv Tyler. Some of the images were just a pair of full breasts in a bikini top, or a pair of long slender legs in high heels. It was very tastefully done, and a wonderful homage to female beauty. I loved it.

'You like?'

'I do. It's wonderful Mel.'

'Everyone I bring back here likes it, and it seems to generate the right kind of responses,' she smiled.

She was right; my nipples were already super-hard, and my pants needed to come off right NOW, before they got so wet they were unwearable.

I turned to face her, and started undoing my jeans and she murmured appreciatively as I stripped for her. She came and sat near to me on the chaise-longue and watched as I slowly revealed my shapely breasts and hard pointy nipples. 'Ooh, your nipples are fantastic Anja,' and she leaned forward and kissed one of them, making me shudder. 'So hard and gorgeous.' She pulled back and looked at it, going slightly cross-eyed as she was so close, then she leaned forward and kissed it again, then gently took it between her lips and sucked it.

My pussy was about to explode. This had already been an uniquely stimulating experience; the pick up in the Fat Giraffe, the lesbian art, the beauty wall, and being here with this incredibly sexy and sensual woman, yet we had hardly got started. I was almost overwhelmed, and my pussy was already drooling freely. The aroma of wet, wanting woman filled the room and I was spinning away into that sublime mist of horniness, where nothing seemed to exist apart from my body and my partners body. A delicious headspace.

She started kissing her way down my stomach, slipping off the chaise-longue to sit between my legs, seeking out my simmering core, and I thrust it forward for her, pushing her head backwards as I desperately sought the climactic release that was already imminent. She slid furrher down, her head lolling back onto the cushion, and I followed, kneeling on one knee and forcing my aching pussy down onto her mouth as she ate me with extraordinary expertise. Such an agile and muscular tongue!

I was grunting and gasping in a surge of primitive animal passion as my orgasm rose like an ocean wave, lifting me irresistibly onto its crest, and when it broke it was literally breath-taking, for both of us: For me, as I gasped for air in the throes of my sexual release, and for her, as she was treated to a thick spurt of my pent-up orgasm juice, which almost choked her.